


Best Man

by chiaroscure



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Recovery, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscure/pseuds/chiaroscure
Summary: Thomas attends Lady Mary's wedding to Henry Talbot. Various struggles are had, but none of them too bad - thanks in large part to Andy.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow & Andy Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	Best Man

**Author's Note:**

> I put like three sentences of this idea into [another fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946833/chapters/54852508), and it seemed worth expanding on, so here that is.

Weddings inspire complex emotions in some people. Thomas Barrow has always been such a person.

The first part of this — and perhaps the most obvious — is the universally familiar twisting of the gut that accompanies watching other people flaunt something one cannot have oneself. As a closet romantic, Thomas does actually _like_ weddings, at least in theory, but his romantic sensibilities always seem to end up bruised by the very aspects of the ceremony that they most want to appreciate. So at base experience is usually, to say the least, complicated.

Another part is thanks to the particular weddings he has attended. Apart from a few ordinary ones he sat through in childhood, most of those Thomas has witnessed have been strange in and of themselves. Daisy and William, Lady Edith and Sir Anthony Strallan, Lady Mary and Mr Matthew Crawley in retrospect — even Carson and Mrs Hughes. The deficit of normal counter-examples would make anyone uneasy about the marriage sacrament.

Finally, for this wedding in particular, there is the fact that Thomas looks and feels like death warmed over. He is confident neither of his bodily strength nor of his mental fortitude to get through this so soon after… _after_ , but he is not unwell enough either to be afforded the luxuries of a complete invalid. So, the whole affair will likely be awkward.

Thomas now has had a lot of time while bed-bound to resign himself to contending with the odd lethargy-anxiety combination that accompanies lower-than-normal blood volume, and the strangeness of celebration following so closely on the heels of the lowest point of his life. He has been attempting to balance the worst parts of the anticipation by using the wedding as a goal post of sorts: he must eat, sleep, and move every day so that he will have recovered enough to attend. It gives him something to work towards. Fraught though it might be for him, Thomas does _want_ to take part in the happiness of the day in whatever small ways he can. Besides, he has been trying to find more things to look forward to recently anyway.

He has also had a great deal of time to think about how to cope with any difficulties that might arise on the day of. There are plans for getting to the church and getting back, what will happen if he can’t stand during the service or after, if he finds himself overwhelmed with any number of inconvenient emotions at any point, if someone unknowingly says he looks unwell. Some of these plans have been discussed with relevant others (the wagonette’s involvement is unusual for such a short journey but it was agreed among the Downton Abbey powers that be that it’s worth offering transportation those who might not want to walk), but mostly Thomas has been trying to keep his more neurotic planning to himself. He does not need to trouble anyone else with his worries about not being able to dress himself sharply enough, or who else will ride in the wagonette, or what he will say about if anyone asks him about himself, or a million other things. Phyllis and Mrs Hughes have been more helpful than he could ever have dreamed they would be; surely he is well enough now not imposing on them quite so much with his every trouble. His dignity (such as it is) has been chafing against all the support he’s needed lately. The anxiety certainly isn’t doing him any favors, but he doesn’t believe telling people about it will help.

When the day comes, he finds the first of his worries is a non-issue. He’s half-dressed when there is a knock at his door (still left ajar at all times when he is alone) and he opens it to find Andy standing bright-eyed in the hallway, ready to play valet for him.

Thomas refrains from making any cracks about Andy being the one footman he has ever let practice valeting on him, when Andy’s also the only footman who has never aspired to that job. It is _funny_ , in an awful sort of way, but it doesn’t seem like a useful comment at the moment, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

He doesn’t need much help; he’s gotten dressed by himself for the last few days, but Andy’s assistance does make it a little easier. When walking back and forth across a room a few times to retrieve garments is enough to make a noticeable dent in one’s energy, every little bit counts.

“You look good, Mr Barrow,” Andy chirps when they’re ready to leave the room.

Thomas frowns; he can’t quite agree. He had hoped that the warm tones in the brown suit would bring out some color in his still-pallid face, but it hasn’t worked so well. It mostly makes him look dull. But again, he doesn’t see the point in going into all that with Andy right now; he’s not going to change now he’s already dressed, so he just mock-snaps, “don’t tell me you’re surprised,” unconvincingly, and leads them out into the hall.

Most everyone has either left already or is too busy to pay them much mind as they descend. It’s a good thing Thomas has been down a few times already, he reflects as he makes his way from the stairs to the door to the courtyard, so that it’s not a novelty to the others for him to be here now. The fewer reasons for anyone to pay him any mind today the better. Andy trails after him, deflecting one of the hall boys who doesn’t know what he is meant to be doing, making inane cheerful conversation. 

Thomas is glad to note that Miss Baxter and Molesley are long gone; he spent far too long yesterday trying to persuade Phyllis to let him sort himself out for her to be dawdling today. By the time she finally let the topic drop, he couldn’t tell if he’d truly convinced her that he wanted her to enjoy herself without tending to him, or if she had caught a glimpse of his dread that he feel like a sickly child with her looking after him — especially since Molesley would inevitably be hanging off of her elbow the whole time. It doesn’t matter, though, Thomas supposes; she’s done what he wanted; the reason is irrelevant.

Quite a lot of things become irrelevant if one has one’s blinders on to everything that require too much energy to address, he is finding.

When he and Andy come to the wagonette, Mr Bates and Anna are there, as is Mrs Patmore. Thomas is none too pleased to see them, although he is also relieved not to be the only person taking advantage of the option not to walk. He is also relieved that, aside from short greetings, the three already sitting in the wagonette do not make too much of a fuss over his arrival. Bates making comments to which the only reasonable reply would doubtless be “and what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?” would probably put him over the top before they even made it to the church. Fortunately, Andy shields him from that danger throughout the short ride to the village by chatting about...well, Thomas isn’t really following, but it’s something engaging enough to keep anyone from talking to him, whatever it is.

Jostling over the road is more physically difficult for Thomas than he anticipated. Keeping himself in his seat takes up enough of his attention that he’s not sure he would even be able to participate in conversation if he had to. He’s never been prone to motion sickness, and indeed he remembers mocking people for weak stomachs more than once in the past, but he understands it better now. His muscles feel like jelly by the time they finally stop moving. 

(What attention is not devoted to remaining upright goes to marveling at how garishly, beautifully green all the summer leaves are in the dazzling sunlight. He hadn’t thought he’d miss the sight of it. The scenery makes him squint, but it’s a welcome change to white walls and lamplight.)

Bates steps off the wagonette first, taking Anna’s hand to help her down. Andy is next so that he can do the same for Mrs Patmore. Thomas half hopes Andy will go and let him struggle with getting down alone, but he doesn’t, so Thomas steels himself for potential embarrassment and gets carefully up. The first step is precarious for how wobbly his legs feel, and his hand shoots out for support instinctively toward the arm Andy, just as instinctively, puts out for Thomas to grab onto if he needs it. Thomas, though, manages to balance himself without assistance, and lowers his hand without so much as touching Andy. Andy follows suit, and smiles cheerfully once Thomas’s feet are safely on firm ground again. 

Andy is very good at what he is doing, Thomas realizes. However humiliating Thomas expected anything up to this point today so far to be, it is much less so thanks to Andy’s unwavering spirits, steady presence, and ability not to call attention to any of the little helps he is providing. Thomas steals a sidelong glance at him, surprised at the revelation, but carries on without comment. No point in spoiling the ease of it now. 

The church is beautiful, because of course it is. The world doesn’t snuff out its beauty just because one person is struggling. Perhaps because Thomas doesn’t know much about Mr Talbot yet, the details of the wedding are able to slide to the background for a moment, leaving only the light, the flowers, and Mrs Hughes’ outstretched hand beckoning Thomas to sit in the pew beside her.

Andy stands in the aisle long enough for Thomas to set situated before himself sliding into the pew behind with the other lower staff. Mrs Hughes graces Thomas with a warm smile, then turns away to say something to Mrs Patmore, thus giving Thomas a chance to have a deep breath to himself. It is a relief finally to be seated again, though that thought makes Thomas feel ancient. There is something odd and confusing about being unwell this way; technically he is experiencing the usual symptoms of grievous injury recovery, but he keeps catching himself feeling that he has transformed into a very old man, like he will feel fragile, tired, and unsteady for the rest of his natural life.

His wrist twinges under its wrappings. He’s been unconsciously pressing at it with his thumb again, he realizes, and stops. He picked that habit up at some point, though he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s a sort of misguided self-punishment when he thinks something wrong. Maybe it’s a way to remind himself why he feels so off compared even to how he did before when he forgets, or a tether back to reality when he starts to drift into unpleasant fantasy.

Or maybe it’s just the nicotine withdrawal.

The service is nice. It’s mature, sweet, and blessedly uneventful. Again, perhaps because Thomas doesn’t really know Mr Talbot, the ceremony feels to him more abstract than the celebration of the two specific people being married. He’s more numb to it than he has been to past weddings, which is for the best, really: feeling numb is far and away better than breaking down. He breathes in the smell of flowers and summer and incense, listens to the pleasant shuffling of the guests around him, sits and stands at the appropriate moments. And leaves, when it’s over.

Somehow in the midst of all the clapping and laughing and petal-throwing, Andy _happens_ to come up next to Thomas again like it’s a perfect coincidence. He chats with the others circling around them, waves after the couple driving away, and acts in every way as a happy young guest at a wedding. He just does it all at Thomas’s side.

With the jubilant people swirling rapidly around him, Thomas is thankful to have Andy’s constant presence there, like a mooring rock in the middle of a quick-moving stream. Like he could hold onto him to catch his breath, if at any point the current gets to be too much.

The metaphor’s not perfect, but Thomas has been tired for the last hour, and it’s close enough. His brief lapse into poetics won’t ever make it outside the confines of his skull, in any case.

Thomas does not hold onto Andy as the crowd disperses, though he does reflexively grab for his arm once. Andy has started in the opposite direction from where the wagonette is parked and Thomas, fearing for a split second that he will have to choose between walking home and braving the wagonette ride alone, reaches out to cling to his sleeve. He feels foolish — pathetic, really — the second he does it, and flinches back like he’s been burnt. But Andy just smiles and holds out his arm so Thomas can take it properly if he wants.

“Forgot which way we were going! Sorry, Mr Barrow, I’m all turned around after that,” he laughs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Thomas smiles tightly, still embarrassed, but nonetheless relieved. It was a mistake, just a mistake, easily understood, forgiven, and forgotten. Everything is, somehow, fine.

A different group populates the wagonette on the way back. Mrs Patmore is here again, but Anna and Bates have evidently elected to walk, making room for two housemaids, a hall boy (who the housemaids seem to have taken an interest in), and Daisy (who is chattering animatedly with Mrs Patmore and Andy). Again, Thomas finds he hasn’t the attention span for both sitting on the bumping wagonette _and_ listening to the conversations going on around him (his body feels like jelly again and his head isn’t far behind; he imagines he’ll sleep the rest of the afternoon until dinner once they get back). The cheerful babble sounds nice, though, and the fresh air still smells refreshing, and the greenery is still beautiful. Perhaps he will take up going for walks on the grounds once he is able. For whatever period he’s still employed here, that is.

That’s not a thought to be having now. He focuses as hard as he can on the look of Andy’s shoe on the wood floor of the wagonette to wash it out of his mind. Andy nudges him lightly in the arm with his elbow and when Thomas looks at him, he gives an attentive little smile.

How he knew to do that then, Thomas has no idea. But Andy’s elbow never quite breaks contact with the side of Thomas’s arm, giving him a tangible anchor point to this moment that keeps his thoughts from flying away again, and he cannot doubt that Andy knows exactly what he’s doing.

Maybe he’ll ask Andy someday if he’s ever helped to someone through anything like this before. Is this the sort of intuition that comes from experience, or are some people just born with it? He never would have guessed Andy would be the type if it’s the latter, but, well, Thomas is all too aware of how easy it is to be wrong about people, isn’t he?

He fills his lungs with the clean air, and looks out at the trees again.

Andy disentangles himself from his conversation with Daisy once they (somewhat miraculously, in Thomas’s opinion) make it back inside the house. Everyone goes their own ways, but Andy continues on with Thomas to the foot of the stairs.

“Will you be wanting to change your suit now, Mr Barrow?” he asks in a low, bright tone.

And what a marvelous way that is to ask if he needs help up the stairs; Thomas is so tired now that he could almost cry at such a show of easy sensitivity, but he holds himself together to give a curt affirmative answer instead. He knows he’s not fooling Andy; by now any sap could surely see how much the day has taken out of him, but he’s grateful for the ability to uphold the mask of decorum as much as he can. 

It’s slow going, but they make it to the second-to-last landing before Thomas has to stop for a short break. He chalks it up to his desperate need to lie down that he attributes his making it this far to Andy being the whole way one step behind him, talking quietly about nothing to banish the risk of awkwardness. Andy should be a nurse, Thomas thinks in a sort of feeble mania as they start up the last flight of stairs; he should take care of people, and he should make all the money in the world for doing it. He’s practically a saint.

Thomas manages to get out of the suit without too much help, accepting a hand mainly with the shoes, which are dismally far away from his fingers. Good thing he can’t embarrass himself in front of Andy much more than he’s already done in the last few weeks or he’d feel the need to hold it together until Andy leaves before collapsing, but he can’t so he doesn’t.

Andy doesn’t bat an eye, just says, “see you this evening, Mr Barrow!” and closes the door behind himself.

The bed has never been more comfortable. It’s hardly midafternoon, but to Thomas it might as well be past midnight for how ready he is to sleep. Leading up to today, he had worried about endless possible things that might happen that could chew him up and keep him from rest after the wedding, but now it’s over, and nothing bad really comes to mind. He made it through; it was all fine. He might even be feeling a bit happy now, under the exhaustion, curiously. Perhaps he’ll give that some more attention later. 

“Thanks, Andy,” Thomas mutters to the empty room, and then he’s out like a light.


End file.
